


In My Secret Life

by Falconette



Category: Free!
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 03:47:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5076640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falconette/pseuds/Falconette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haruka and commitment issues</p>
            </blockquote>





	In My Secret Life

This was supposed to be a good old smut story, I swear, it just got out of control and turned into the lemonest lemon. Sunday afternoons are my prime lemon time, apparently. 

Honestly, from the beginning this one took its own course surprising me as I wrote it, particularly the ending, since I imagined a steamy bedroom scene but got something completely different. Ok, the said scene could have happened afterward (in fact, YOU BET IT DID), but I didn’t think it would feel right to include explicit intercourse scenes after… well, see for yourselves.

 

_Haruka and commitment issues or_

## In My Secret Life

There was a knock at my door and I automatically glanced at the clock on the wall to check the time, without really needing to. No one else would come by at this hour, unannounced, except him. I put my book down, dimmed the light and got up.

„Evening Haruka.“

I moved back into the apartment, giving him space to take off his shoes and enter, closing the door behind him. I went to the kitchen to make some green tea which I knew he liked, still deciding whether I was going to give him a cold shoulder, not expecting a greeting in return and not getting one.

„Where have you been this time, I haven’t seen you lately.“ It was not his absence that gave him away, it was the half-eaten meals he left, the shallow feel of his touches and hastiness of his lovemaking on the days I last saw him. He was always like that before an important race, whether he noticed it at all.  
I heated the water, careful not to boil it, and poured it over the fine, green powder in two cups.

“Berlin.” His voice, bland and neutral, answered from the living room. I could hear he sat down on the couch which would leave me no other place to sit but next to him. 

I brought the tray and took the sight of him in for the first time, the cheeks bitten by a frosty night air and a slick film of perspiration sticking to his skin. He must have walked at a brisk pace, maybe even jogged. He would probably not tell me what made him unable to sit still tonight, he rarely did, it was all in the little clues I learned deciphering while spending time with him, like an endless game.

“Oh, Germany? That is a long way from here.”

Expectedly, I sat next to him, pretending that late night visits were the most natural thing and patiently smiled. He was studying me, the quiet, inquiring eyes shining from beneath the thick bangs. He knew he was transgressing good manners, knew I would ask for no explanations or apologies, but he could not know if the line had finally been overstepped. So he had to make sure he was still welcome.

Predictably, his orbs darted towards my finger to see if the ring was still there. It was not a wedding or an engagement ring, it was a simple band of silver he brought from one of his travels, his way of saying mine was the only door he knocked at at strange, non-visiting hours. So I wore it on my thumb, and I wore it still.

“Omiyage.” he finally declared, relaxing and producing a bag of sweets from his hoodie pocket. I took it with a smile, pretending to read the foreign script on the package, bowing my head in an automatic gesture.

“Oh thanks, you shouldn’t have.”

Of course, he didn’t reply with a standard, culturally conditioned courtesy how it was nothing, only a trinket, so I put the bag away, ready to taste my tea. Once, after severely testing my patience, or my better judgment, by disappearing for two months without a word and then showing up on my doorstep in the small hours, while lying together tangled in sheets afterwards he said I reminded him of his childhood friend, the one who would let him get away with anything with a smile. It infuriated me – the comparison and the fact he was sleeping soundly in my bed while I was wide awake, waiting for the dawn and questioning my self-esteem – but in the end I couldn’t blame Haruka. I let him do this to me.

In time, I realized he had paid me a compliment then, in his way.

“So, how did you do?” The tea was hot and bitter, just right.

“Bronze.” He took his cup and used it as an excuse to elude my gaze, but couldn’t help offering a justification. “The European competition was very strong.”

“Bronze is great.” I inhaled a whiff of steam from my beverage, the aroma always calmed me down. “Congratulations.”

He gave me one of his looks, half curious, half incredulous, taking a while before commenting, “That is not what Rin thinks.”

So there it was, the real reason for Haruka’s night prowls. They were both swimmers in their prime, regularly scoring points and collecting trophies in international meets, but according to Rin, Haruka was far from his best. Even though Haruka would, without a doubt, put an uninterested and stubborn front before Rin, Rin’s critical words still drilled holes in him like worms. That is how Haruka functioned, a slow burning fuse that you easily forgot you lit. Surely Rin knew that too.

Shrugging, I placed the cup on the table and opened the bag of foreign sweets. The faint smell of cinnamon filled the air.

“How did Rin do?” my question was deceptively harmless.

“He did not enter.” Haruka retorted and I smirked through my nose. He knew what I was going to say so he was quick to add, untypically hasty, in Rin’s defense, “He is in Sydney, preparing for an event there.”

I took another sip, closing my eyes to fully appreciate the taste of cinnamon fused with tea and to change the course of the conversation. I didn’t want to get in between them, I knew better than to fight a losing battle. At least I could thank Rin and his big mouth that Haruka was here tonight.

Haruka and I met at my neighborhood pool where I worked with children. He did not train there, just happened to pass by and decided to go for a swim. Thinking back now, something must have been pressing on his mind so he probably sought out the nearest body of water to swim away the complications. That is how he ticked. I didn’t know that back then, I only remember noticing him observing my class absentmindedly, sitting by the pool and dripping water. Back then, I didn’t realize I must have reminded him of Makoto, the childhood friend he left back home. He was feeling sentimental and open and allowed himself to take part in an unnecessary conversation. We did a lot of talking on that first day, so much I didn’t realize I was seeing a rare side of him. He walked me home later and, for some reason, I let him brush his lips against mine as a goodbye. It felt like the right thing to do. He showed up at the pool again couple of days later, just when I was about to head home, with a dinner invitation. Because that felt right too, I had said yes.

“Are you hungry?” I picked up the tray to take it to the kitchen. Haruka’s hand on mine stopped me from getting up.

“Rin means well. That is just how he talks.” his voice was low but firm. He was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince me. 

“If you say so.” I concurred neutrally.

Haruka frowned, looking aside, “You get the wrong impression because I only complain to you about him. If you knew him, you would…” his words trailed off, an uncomfortable silence setting in between us. 

Although I have seen Haruka swim many times, I have never seen him compete. Not all his races took place abroad, some were held even here, in Tokyo, but I was never informed or invited. I haven’t met any of the people he mentioned in his stories either. The coach, Makoto, Rin, his teammates… all were just names without faces to me and Haruka was careful never to suggest merging of his two worlds. 

Did they even know I existed?

There it was, the bitter feeling in my mouth that wasn’t the matcha aftertaste. I noticed my index finger was frantically rubbing the ring on my thumb in an unconscious gesture, like I was making sure it was still there, that the bond it symbolized was real, existent, important, regardless of what my gut feeling told me. 

“Are you sleeping here tonight?” I couldn’t help letting some of my anger seep into the tone of my words. Haruka hesitated for a moment, then took me by the hand and led me to the bedroom. He noticed the missing picture right from the door, the one I posed for on the bed after a lazy, afternoon lovemaking, the one he drew for me. He didn’t comment, just stood still for a second, staring at the empty space on the wall before turning to me.

His lips melted with mine in darkness with a perfect ease, the same swift and precise execution he displayed while jumping from the starting block into the water. I could feel him asking for forgiveness and understanding, but I could muster none and he sensed this in the tenseness of my body and coldness my skin. One of his hands found mine, his fingers clasping around the ring and only after I returned the clasp did he deepen the kiss, leaning his body into the embrace.

He proceeded kissing my jaw and neck, so I leaned my head back closing my eyes. No one knew how to touch like Haruka, the softness of his lips and fingertips turning my body into water, melting me from the inside, creating ripples of pleasant goose bumps across my skin. He made me feel myself better, let me connect with him on a completely different level.

But still, I was selling myself cheap. And he knew that I knew.

“Are you ashamed of me?” I whispered with tightly closed eyelids, angry and miserable I had to finally ask that question.

He stopped and took a small step back, examining my face. One of his hands still cupped my cheek, the thumb caressing my eyebrow. I felt his body move closer to mine then, his arms slowly but surely entwining me like ivy, pulling me onto his pounding heart. That is what he did when he couldn’t find the words to communicate what he felt, when emotions overwhelmed him. With a hand on the nape of my neck, he leaned my chin onto his shoulder, harboring it there like it was his missing piece, keeping it in place by a tight embrace. Everything about him said this was a safe place, a place only for me.

I took in the smell of his skin, the chlorine, his hair, so immediate and intimate and known that for a second I wondered how I ever doubted they weren’t mine and mine alone. But the sweet wishful thinking and occasional encounters in the dark weren’t enough.

He felt my thoughts in the way I didn’t give in to his touches, how my body refused to flow beneath his fingers. This time, all his silent magic wouldn’t do.

“It is the complete opposite.” His dry whisper tickled my ear when he finally found the words to speak, his arms using their strength to tighten their hold on me, more desperate than loving - I realized. “Here I have you only for me.”

“Why would anything change that?” I demanded, my voice pointedly stronger and sharper than his. 

“You don’t understand.” He muttered hastily, too ashamed to let me see his face, keeping me stuck to his chest. I could feel his irregular breathing, the effort he put into staying and bringing these fears to light. “Rin is bigger than life and Makoto… He is the best person I know. Compared to them… I… All I know is how to swim.”

I was dumbfounded, letting my arms fall limply by my sides. He misunderstood the gesture, I could tell by the way he winced and cringed, like swatted by a switch.    

“Haruka…” my voice betrayed me, finding no right words for the confusion swirling inside of me. Was this how he felt when he was with me, overwhelmed and crippled by limitations of a language? Then I became aware my index finger was going through the same habitual tic I resorted to whenever I was confused or insecure. So I took the ring off and freed myself from Haruka’s embrace. He was reluctant to let go, there was an air of finality in his grasp. Behind long bangs, his eyes were somberly expectant, like those of an animal waiting to be kicked.

“Would you feel safer if I wore this on my ring finger when I met them?” my voice was gentle but firm, maybe a bit pushy but it felt like the right thing to say.

  
The look of incomprehension that touched his face was swept away by a surprised one when he recognized the object in my palm. Wide eyed, he carefully took and examined it, like he was seeing it for the first time.

“Would you… wear it for me?” his low voice cracked but his serious eyes were unwavering, focused on mine. I smiled, suddenly trembling all over, so he took my hand and slowly and solemnly slid the shiny band on my finger, welcoming me into his life.

It felt like the right thing to do, after all.


End file.
